Young Writers, social media
Young Writers
Young Writers

Feedback Form

Click here if you would like to add a comment.

Thank For your Feedback


The Grief On The Titanic

Did it have to be my father? Why mine? I never got a chance to say goodbye! I looked up above at the caliginous sky, heralding the misery of my future. I was hit by an iceberg of despair, sinking in an ocean of grief. A black stain burns my heart. My happiness sails away. Red-hot anger bubbles in my mind - nature has snatched my father, but I just sit in the nourishing arms of my mother, helpless. I hear a bereft cry, echoing in the midst, I don't know whose it is, but I figure out, it is mine.

by Parth Gore (0)
Langley Grammar School, Berkshire

Competition - Mini Monologues

Copyright remains with the author.